Dizzy
by Bella Winter Rose
Summary: Max is in heat, Logan’s in California. How far will she go to get a lil sumthin-sumthin (from him of all people)? It’s sort of comical, a little dirty and beautifully narrated if I do say so myself. My first naughty “heat” fic….be nice…
1. Cynical and Beautiful

**Title:** Dizzy

**Summery:** Max is in heat, Logan's in California. How far will she go to get a lil sumthin-sumthin (from him of all people)? It's sort of comical, a little dirty and beautifully narrated if I do say so myself. My first naughty "heat" fic….be nice…

**Disclaimers:** Don't own Dark Angel…I wish I did (I pray for it every night) but alas my God is a cruel God (haha j/k). I don't claim rights to any DA characters (except maybe Logan or Alec on occasion…oh wait, that was a dream I had…). All non DA characters are mine. Nor do I claim rights to the Goo Goo Dolls and their song "Dizzy", from which I borrowed lyrics for this fic.

~*~Logan~*~

_You're cynical and beautiful  
You always make a scene  
You're monochrome delirious  
You're nothing that you seem_

            The gas pedal almost stuck to the floor from the weight of his foot as Logan pushed down harder and harder on it. As he pulled out of the parking garage and onto the roads and highways, he tried to slow his hurried breathing and listened to the blood pound in his ears. He needed to get out of Seattle—fast. It was "that time": when Max's body went out of control and caused her to lower her defenses and become any man's fantasy. She was "in heat" and from what Original Cindy had told him, it wasn't pretty this time. 

He had hung around and watched this for going on three years now. A fourth time would be the last straw for him. He was sure this time he wouldn't be able to contain himself and nor would she. Putting it off was killing them and while she was in heat all bets were off.

"No telling when it's gonna roll round," Max had said. "It's better you leave and not tell me where."

Out of the corner of his eye, Logan scanned the backseat to confirm he had indeed thrown his suitcase and laptop in there. He had planned that he would only be gone four days, just until this thing with Max had blown over.

He had planned ahead and gotten a hold of one of his childhood friends, Brent Laszlo, whom he hadn't seen since they were sixteen and suggested they get together for a few days. Brent who lived in Fresno, California, was ecstatic at Logan's suggestion. From what Logan had been told that Brent had a wife, Priscilla and two kids—nine-year-old Amy Ann and five-year-old Mark. Brent assured him that there would be room for him and promised the kids wouldn't bother him.

The Aztec's windshield fogged as Logan drove through the torrential rain. He opened the window of the drivers side and let the cool water and icy wind hit him like a breath of fresh air. He shivered and it was nice. His glasses fogged up slightly as the abrupt change in temperature adjusted. Logan sighed in relief—all he needed was some mental health days, he assured himself. _This will have nothing to do with Max._

_Of course that's not true…this has everything to do with Max. Are you crazy?_

In a moment of weakness, he admitted to himself he had fantasized about Max. Nothing masturbational, but just seeing her standing in his kitchen, leather clad with her hair mussed from her last motorcycle ride and eating strawberries, was more erotic than any of the hundreds of pornography magazines he and Brent and his other friends had swiped as experimental preteens.

_Oh boy,_ Logan shook away his thoughts. _This is going to be one hell of a mental health period._


	2. I'm Drowning in Your Vanity

~*~Max~*~

I'm drowning in your vanity  
Your laugh is your disease  
You're dirty and you're sweet  
You know you're everything to me

            After slamming her head into the wall hard and sharply, Max regained conscious and brought herself back into a cruel and harsh reality.

            _Hate this, hate this, hate this,_ Max grumbled to herself angrily. She paced the apartment, which Original Cindy had locked and thrown away the key. To make matters worse, she'd taken anything—hairpins, paperclips, pens—that could be used to pick it, 

Max's cheeks were flushed from her rising body temperature and she was tearing at her hair. It was definitely bad this time. All she could think about was Logan. But like a fool, she advised him to take a vacation and not send her a postcard. 

Violently, Max tore off her clothes and stood in the middle of the living room in her worn out gray sports bra and purple panties. She found temporary relief for about fifteen minutes but after some pushups the heat rose yet again. It was then she gave up and proceeded with an old ritual: the cold shower.

            "Be cool, cold, icy, frosty," Max chanted in monotone. "Ice cold…" She sauntered to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Immediately, she stepped in and let the freezing water cascade over her body. Her chest tightened and she let out a series of short, quick gasps as her body contracted from the shock of the icy pellets hitting her fast. It was then she realized that she had forgotten to take off her panties and bra. She peeled off her undergarments and threw them on the floor outside the shower door. They landed with a _plop_ in a wet pile.

            As Max stood in the shower, her mind was elsewhere. It was on Logan Cale. He was something else. She licked her lips just thinking about him. The man was indeed amazing, lacking almost nothing except maybe pride and some humbleness.

            Max had to come clean: her _fantasy_ was Logan. He wasn't some puppy-love crush. Ever since the virus was destroyed, every time they grazed it was like electricity. One kiss between them was never enough. There was always that need for more…more…more of whatever he had to offer, whatever she had to give. 

            Ever since they met it was obvious that they were destined to be together forever but either of them were too shy to admit it.

            Almost every night, Max would lay awake in bed, thinking about Logan. His muscular upper body, his cute little glasses that made him look all smart and cute and intellectual, his sensuous lips…and that hair! She couldn't get enough of his hair, how it spiked up like that.

            "Oooh, boy," Max sighed. "You got it bad, girl."

            Quickly, she jumped out of the shower, turned off the water and started doing pushups stark naked on the bathroom floor: two hundred of them. By then she needed another shower.

            For the next four hours, that was how she spent her time: alternating pushups with ice cold showers. Nothing else seemed to work and she was going stir crazy. After her ninth shower, Max got dressed and made her way to her baby, her motorcycle. The thrill of riding it at top speed was almost as good as a real orgasm. 

            _Why can't I think of anything less than Logan? _Max thought to herself as she mounted the Ninja._ Logan of all people! Why can't I think of Rafer? What's wrong with Rafer, really? Just as hot as Logan…oh God I have to find out where he went or I'm gonna go crazy!_


	3. Everything You Are

~*~Logan~*~

**_Everything you are_**

**_Falls from the sky like a star _**

**_Everything you are_**

**_Whatever, whenever you are…_**

            "Hi, there," the sylphlike blonde woman with stunning blue eyes said when she answered the door. "You must be Logan. Come on in."

            Logan smiled and nodded and quickly entered the foyer of this quaint little white house with red shutters. His single suitcase was in his right hand with his laptop case slung over his shoulder.

            "I'm Priscilla," she said. "Brent's wife. He's told me so much about you." Priscilla extended her hand in greeting and Logan shook it.

            "Good things I hope."

            "Logan! My man!" Brent entered the foyer from a room to the right. He'd really grown up in the past twenty years. The sandy haired kid with a small galaxy of freckles who was usually smeared in mud and scraped his knees riding his moped had metamorphed into a tall man with a golden-brown mane that hung down to the base of his neck in waves. His freckles were now few and far between. He and Logan embraced in a manly hug, patting each other on the back. "Great to see ya."

            "Great to see you, too," Logan grinned, happy he was here, happy he was away from Max. 

            "DADDY!" shrieked the voice of a little girl from upstairs. "TELL MARK TO GET OUT OF MY ROOM!"

            Brent exhaled as if he had been holding his breath for ages. "That would be Amy Ann, otherwise known as Loudmouth McGee," he laughed, describing his daughter as if she were his pesky little sister.

            "I'M NOT IN HER ROOM!" hollered a boy's voice.

            "And that's Mark, a.k.a. Sir Shouts A Lot," Priscilla added, joining the name game. "Kids! Come on down! Your father's guest is here!"

            Within seconds after much rumbling from the floor above, a willowy dirty-blond girl, who obviously took more after her mother, wearing a denim jumper over a bright pink T-shirt bounded down to the bottom of the stairs, followed by a little boy with dark brown hair in a bowl cut wearing black corduroy slacks and a blue turtleneck.

            "Amy Ann and Mark, this is Logan Cale," Brent said. "I knew him when I was about your age, Mark."

            "How do you do?" Amy Ann grinned and offered her hand, almost mimicking her mother. 

            Logan shook hands with the adorable kid, "I'm very well, thank you," he answered.

            "Hi," Mark said simply, waving to him. "Do you play video games?"

            "Um," Logan laughed. "Yeah, I've played some video games."

            "Logan works with computers for a living," Brent explained to Mark.

            "Cool!"

            Priscilla looked at her watch. "It's getting late. I made dinner and it should be a very special dinner because of the arrival of our company."

            "Do you need any help in the kitchen?" Logan asked, feeling almost useless if he didn't offer his services.

            "I should be all right," Priscilla said. "Everyone sit down. Amy Ann can play hostess for a little bit, can't you, Amy Ann?"

            "Uh-huh," Amy Ann smiled, proud to be left an important job. "This way." She pulled Logan by the hand and led him to the dining room, which was simply to the left of the foyer. Mark and Brent followed Logan being dragged helplessly by a nine year old.

            Once everyone was seated and Priscilla was in the kitchen, making final preparations, Brent and Logan entertained the kids by telling them stories when they were kids.

            "There was the time when Logan decided to tease Mrs. Dean's Doberman pinscher, Fluffy," Brent laughed.

            "Okay, _you_ dared me," Logan pointed out. "_You_ were the one who said 'Hey Logan let's go see what happens when you poke Fluffy with a stick.'"

            "What happens?" Mark asked. Amy Ann's eyes grew wide with anticipation.

            "Fluffy breaks his leash and chases you around the backyard."

            "While loosing your pants in the process!" added Brent.

            "Don't remind me," Logan blushed. Being pursued by a fanged monster in your tightie whities wasn't a memory he wanted to recall. He had buried it in the corner of his mind and Brent had to play Jesus and resurrect it. 

            Amy Ann and Mark, however, were in a fit of giggles.

            "Hey, hey, hey," Priscilla emerged from the kitchen, carrying a wooden bowl filled with salad. "Calm down you guys. Brent, I warned you not to get them riled up."

            "Sorry, Lila," Brent apologized, obviously calling his wife by a pet name. "We were just entertaining them."

            "Sure, sure, sure," Priscilla set the bowl on the table and stuck a serving spoon in it. "Logan, I hope you like Greek salad."

            "What's in it?" Logan eyed the bowl suspiciously.

            "Broccoli rhab, farfalle, black olives, feta cheese and tomatoes in an olive oil vinaigrette."

            "Priscilla's studied with some of the most famous chefs in the world," Brent bragged proudly.

            "Well, not exactly," Priscilla smiled modestly as she sat. "But Logan, Brent tells me—Mark, stop playing with the olives—Brent tells me you do some—Mark, what did I tell you?— You do some gourmet cooking of your own. Mark Jeffrey Laszlo, if I have to warn you again about playing with your food, I swear to God…"

            "I wouldn't call it gourmet, but my, ah, girlfriend considers it gourmet. She calls me the culinary genius," Logan referred to Max as lackadaisically as he could. 

            "Girlfriend?" Brent turned to his old friend in surprise. "I never knew you had a girlfriend. Whatever happened to Valerie? Or Daphne?"

            "Daphne and I were engaged for five minutes," Logan sighed. "Val and I have been divorced for some time now. What made you bring them up?"

            Brent shrugged. "Just wondering. Who's the new girl?"

            Logan swallowed hard, "Her name's Max Guevara." He winced. He really didn't want to think about her right now. He pictured her at this very moment, her pacing in her apartment, dousing herself in cold water or doing pushups or, God forbid, with Rafer.

            "Max Guevara?" Brent repeated. "There's a new one. Sounds kind of urban."

            "So?"

            "Mark has a girlfriend!" Amy Ann's childish voice piped up.

            "Do not," Mark grumbled as he played hockey with the olives on his plate.

            "Her name's Traaay-seee. Tracy Kehhhnnn-tehhhnnn." Amy Ann continued in sing-song.

            "Tracy Kenton?" Priscilla laughed. She hid her smile behind her hand.

            "She's not my girlfriend," Mark sulked. "Mommy make her stop."

            "Anyway, about this Max," Brent continued. "Where'd you find her?"

             "To tell the truth, I discovered her trying to break into my house."

            "What?" Priscilla's eyes went wide.

            Laughing out loud, Logan continued, making up the lie as he went along. "She had mixed up penthouses and she was trying to open my door with her key. We ah, started up a conversation and I haven't been able to let her go since."

            "How sweet!"

            Logan laughed to himself, _If you only knew_.


	4. The Machine

~*~Max~*~

I wanna kick at the machine  
That made you piss away your dreams   
And tear at your defenses   
Till there's nothing there but me

****

            It was killing her. Max sweated silently as she sped past her apartment building. Sped past Crash. Sped past Jam Pony. Sped past Foggle Towers. Turned around and went back to Foggle Towers. She decided that she needed some familiarities surrounding her. 

            She ran up the stairs and kicked down the door of Logan's apartment and spun around and around. Yes, this is just what she needed. She laughed insanely but stopped fleetingly. Something was missing…the infernal clicking of computer keys? The ominous voice of Eyes Only? The smell of cooking food?

_            Logan._

            Max's rejoice was short-lived when she realized the one she had been yearning for was non-existent. 

_            Shit! Where is he? He's _always_ home!_

            Then she remembered how stupid she had been and told him to go away and not come back for a few days.

            "Stupid! Idiot! Moron! Brainless! Jackass!" Max hollered at the top of her lungs. She stomped her feet in a childish attempt to make things better.

            _Must find him…I have to…I'll go insane! Positively insane! Oh for the love of God why am I so persistent on finding him? You're being ridiculous, Max! Get a grip on yourself…_

            These thoughts ran through her head as she ransacked the penthouse to find any evidence to where he had gone. It was possible he could be anywhere, especially since she noticed that his exoskeleton was gone. Max opened drawers and flung ajar cabinet doors almost off the hinges.

            _I can't believe I'm doing this…this is so not like you, Max. Has it ever been like this? Have you ever been this crazy about a guy that you scour his apartment to even get an inkling about his locality? Crazy, absolutely bonkers—insane! _

            After almost sweeping everything off of Logan's desk, Max uncovered a few old photographs. One showed two adorable little boys—a tall, freckled one and a skinny little thing with glasses and spiked blond hair—with one arm on the other's shoulder, both smiling stupidly, at the camera, bearing gap-toothed grins. Neither were wearing shirts but had on swimming trunks and they were standing in front of a body of water, possibly an ocean. Written on the back in feminine script was_ Brent and Logan, Summer in San Diego, 1994_. 

            _So this was the little boy who grew up to be the great and powerful Eyes Only,_ Max chuckled to herself. _Jesus, even back then he was a geek._

            The second was of the same two little boys, yet they were at least four years older. They were standing beside each other, covered in mud and beaming, wearing football gear. _Brent and Logan, Seattle Stamina quarterback and nose-guard, October 1999 Championships _was scribbled on the back, this time in a very bold print.

            Max raised her eyebrow at the last picture. The photograph this time was Brent and Logan, plus about three other guys the same age, wearing suits and ties, standing in front of a large gray stone building. Again, Max found a caption on the back, this one typed: _Zack H., Brent L., Logan C., Ross P. and Kyle M.: members of Few Left Standing, 8th Grade Graduation Dance @ Smokerise Inn, June 2003_. 

            "Okay," Max mumbled to herself. "Exoskeleton—gone. Three pictures of Logan and a guy named Brent—recovered. Operation? It will be tricky."

            Unable to stand it, Max stripped and borrowed Logan's shower. She had gone too long with out a cold one. When she finished up, she went into his bedroom and laid on his bed and began to sob out of simple frustration. 

            "Oh God this is going to kill me!" she bawled. She pounded her fists on Logan's pillows. Sitting up and swinging her legs over the side, Max grabbed her clothes, thinking this is probably the only time she'd lay naked on Logan Cale's bed. As she pulled on her panties and leather pants, she noticed a letter on his nightstand. She clipped on her bra and then picked it up, reading it quickly. Only the last paragraph caught her eye:

            _I can't wait to see you again, man. It will be like old times, the two of us chilling out (of course, this time Joi and Namou won't be there!). I also wanted you to meet my wife Priscilla and my kids. Yeah, kids—stop laughing. I have a nine-year-old girl named Amy Ann and a five-year-old boy, Mark. I can't tell you how many times I've told stories about when we were kids. _

_            Anyway, I'll see you on Thursday, hopefully._

From, Brent 

            Max's eyes widened. Brent? That was the guy that was in all those pictures with Logan as a kid. With a stroke of luck, she noticed the envelope was lying right beside where she had found the letter. Brent Laszlo lived in Fresno, California. Everything she needed was right here, in black and white. Stuffing the envelope in her bra, she continued getting dressed and fled from the penthouse.

            _Everything else be damned._


	5. I Wanna Feel You Scream

~*~Logan~*~

You're angry when you're beautiful   
Your love is such tease   
I'm drowning in your dizzy noise   
I wanna feel you scream

****

            The first night at Brent and Priscilla's home slipped by and before Logan could realize it, sunshine was peaking through the window of the guest bedroom that Priscilla had fixed up for him. It was nice to see sun for a change.

_After all, this is California._

He had slept with the door closed in hopes that no one would discover his exoskeleton. Logan never told Brent about his accident and wasn't even going to bother.

_Why bring up the past?_

Outside the oak door, Logan heard two sets of soft high pitched giggling and whispering, obviously Amy Ann and Mark trying to get a peek of Daddy's friend. 

It had been a restless night for poor Logan. He awoke with the sheets tangled beneath and under his useless legs and spent his sleep flitting in and out of dreams/nightmares concerning Max. If it was about Max or not, she was there, either in the center of attention or off in the background.

_I can't believe you're still thinking about her, you loser._

Logan maneuvered himself over to the exoskeleton, put it on and slid a pair of long pajama pants over them to hide any trace of them. After putting his glasses on, when he went to open the door, Amy Ann and Mark were seated on the floor, just outside the doorframe, as he suspected they would be.

"Hi," he greeted them, smiling widely. 

They both gave him cat-who-ate-the-canary looks and shyly waved. Amy Ann was in a rumpled pink nightgown trimmed in lace and Mark wore a pajama set with sports balls embossed all over. Both of them had extremely messy hair.

"Where's your mom and dad?"

"Kitchen, makin' coffee," Mark whispered.

"They told us not to wake you up," chirped Amy Ann. "Did we wake you up?"

"Nope," Logan answered truthfully.

"Do you miss your girlfriend?" she asked, standing. Mark followed suit.

Logan smiled, "Why do you ask that?"

Amy Ann shrugged. "You just look kinda sad, is all." She smiled back, shrugged again and skipped off, Mark scurrying after her. 

_Cute kids._

Making his way downstairs, Logan recalled his dreams and nightmares. Some were particularly bad, some were surprisingly splendid. Either way, it bothered him that he was thinking about Max when they were suppost to be apart.

"Morning, Logan," Brent greeted when he entered the kitchen. 

"Good morning," Logan replied.

"Sleep well?" Priscilla yawned and chuckled at the same time.

"Yeah, sure."

"I heard these two monsters were spying on you when you woke up," Priscilla gestured towards Mark and Amy Ann, who were pouring themselves bowls of cereal at the kitchen counter. "I apologize about that." She poured Logan a mug of coffee.

"No need," Logan insisted, taking the steaming cup from her. "They weren't bothering me, if that's what you're implying."

"We just wanted to be good hosts, Mommy," Mark piped up.

"Being a good host isn't bothering the guest," Brent chided gently.

"Can we go to the beach today, Daddy?"

"We'll see," Brent said. "It depends on what Logan wants to do."

_I can't go to the beach with this machine on my legs_. "I don't really, ah, enjoy the beach too much…" Logan said reluctantly.

"That's okay," Brent insisted. "We can always do something without the kids."

"No fair!" Mark protested.

"Let Daddy have some time alone with Logan," Priscilla said firmly. "I'll take you and Amy Ann to the beach if you still want to."

And that's exactly how the day went. The kids went to the beach, Brent and Logan stayed at home, in Brent's study with a bottle of vodka.

"Remember those girls who were in love with us back at Yale who introduced you to Daphne?" Brent asked. "Namou and Joi?" 

"Ah, the Sexy Sorority Sweethearts of Tri-Delt?" Logan recalled. "Yeah I think so."

"I get an e-mail from Joi a few days ago confessing her love for me, not you."

"Really?"

"Funny thing is, she and Namou are lesbians."

"Get out," Logan laughed.

"I swear it. She's like 'oh I loved you so much I swore I would never love another man.' Apparently she wasn't kidding."

"Oh God," sighed Logan, sipping his vodka. "Geez it's really early for this stuff."

"Yeah, well, I usually never get a chance with the kids everywhere. Plus, I'm not one of those guys who drink alone."

"I know I never do."

"So you drink with that chick you're with. Max, was it?"

Logan winced, "Yeah."

"Tell me more about her. What does she look like? Better yet, got a picture?"

"Not with me, no. She's kind of tiny, though. Very thin. Uh, nice chest, nice butt. Strong. Fast. Kind of olive-y skin, brown hair, brown eyes, and big, full lips."

"Sounds like a winner. How old is she?"

"Twenty-one, twenty-two I guess."

"A kid," Brent scoffed.

"She's not that young, Brent. She was nineteen when we met."

"And you caught her breaking into your apartment?"

"Had my gun ready." _Or at least my bodyguard did._

Brent burst out laughing. "You were gonna shoot to kill and now you two're knockin' boots?"

_I wish._ "Not necessarily."

"Well, you were the stud horse back at Yale," Brent gulped his drink. "Can't picture the great Logan Cale with one steady chick."

"Get used to it."

It was Brent's turn to recoil. "Yeah okay."

"Anyway, Max and I aren't like that. At least we're not suppost to. I mean, we're close and all that—I've been there for her, she's been there for me, we hang out together, we work together…which reminds me—how'd you meet Priscilla?"

Brent rolled his eyes, "I met her at a club. She was dancing in one of those cages they hang from the ceiling."

"So she was a stripper?"

"No," Brent corrected quickly and sharply. "She paid some guy a hundred bucks to let her dance in a cage. I remember she was in a little silver tube top and black hot pants with pink glitter all over she shoulders and chest. I saw her and thought she looked a little like an angel."

"If Heaven had hookers," joked Logan, remembering the time Max told him she once had to pretend to be a stripper to help Alec save a mermaid.

"Hey, shut up. I remember how you and Joi used to—what did you call it?—oh yeah, 'hang out' all alone in the dorms?"

"Well, we didn't really do anything."

"Then I must've been dreaming when I heard her shout your name at the top of her lungs followed by a chorus of 'hell yes' at two in the morning?"

Logan turned deep scarlet. That had been done as a joke. Joi had started jumping on the bed to make it squeak and screamed like that to not only irritate the other tenants but to embarrass Logan and tease Brent. She had always been wild like that.

_Maybe that's why I'm so attracted to Max? Because she's a little like Joi?_

True, Joi was a girl to be remembered. She was a unique Eurasian beauty with hair so black it seemed blue and she had it streaked bright red. Her eyes, coincidently, were almost like Max's, and her lips too.

_Jesus, I'm seeing Joi in Max._

Logan shrugged that thought off his back but it haunted him for the rest of the day.

That night, as Logan, Brent, Priscilla and the kids were sitting in the dining room, consuming another one of Priscilla's "gourmet" meals, rain patted down on the windows and the roof of the Laszlos'  suburban home. In the middle of a roast beef, the doorbell rang. Priscilla and Brent exchanged private looks of shock and surprise and Brent got up to go see who it was.

"Can I help you?" Brent asked coolly to the person standing there after he'd opened the door.

"I'm looking for Logan Cale," the firm, feminine voice replied. She sounded a little breathless and slightly muffled, probably from the downpour.

Logan turned in his seat and made eye contact with Brent, giving him a little nod, to tell him it was okay, to let whoever it was in. 

"He's here," Brent told the woman outside. "Come on in."

Then, as if in slow motion, the woman entered and Logan's breath caught in his throat. He then uttered the name he so longingly held between his lips and one he wanted to say over and over,

"Max."

I know it's a really long chapter but oh well…hope you enjoy and Chapter #6 is in the making…luv, C.W.


End file.
